


Getting Dirty

by Lazulia



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Alley Sex, From the author formerly known as Delphicoracle-Cat, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazulia/pseuds/Lazulia
Summary: Purse enjoys slumming it in dirty bars and meets a certain brick truck





	Getting Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, just moving all my StEx fics to AO3 for posterity. You might remember me as Delphicoracle-Cat. I'm still exactly as cool as I once was, I swear.

Grime, dirt, muck. The air in this dive of a place was thick with it, a filthy mist of coal, brick, and gravel dust.

Purse shuddered. He could already feel it seeping into his plating, settling into his pristine seams and joints. He could taste it, could practically feel it dulling the shine of the glitter he wore on his face. He was used to the sterile cleanliness of the places electrics went to socialize, bright spotless clubs with gleaming walls and glowing lighting and filled with hushed, high-class conversation.

In this place, even the conversation was filthy. Purse passed a slate truck who was quite busy gyrating his pelvis for the benefit of his friends, evidently recounting last night’s conquest, and shouldered his way past two sloppy, inebriated coaches. One of them made a sound that could generously be interpreted as a whistle. Purse pretended not to hear it.

The money truck rolled with stoic grace all the way to the bar, debated whether to dust the stool, and sat down with a defeated sigh, trying to decide what to do with his arms before laying them on the bar top. He was already going to have to scrub himself raw after leaving this place. And take something for the headache pounding at his temples, thanks to the dirty, stuffy atmosphere of this place.

He’d barely had time to lock eyes with a stain on the bar top when a truck slid into the seat next to Purse. “Well well well. What do we have here?” 

Purse gave him a bored, slightly disgusted look. A brick truck. He was as dirty as any truck here, covered in gravel dust and coal, a spare brick embedded in his helmet just in case anyone forgot what his job entailed, an insufferably cheeky look on his face as he looked Purse up and down. “Name’s Flat-Top. Come here often, gorgeous?” 

Yes, actually. “I’m here on business.” 

“Business, eh? Yeah, I got business too. We all got business.” 

Purse didn’t bother with a reply. Somewhere in the distance, a truck released a string of profanity to rival Wrench the time she dropped a welding mask on her foot. 

“We don’t get a lot of electrics down here,” Flat-Top remarked. Purse heard the scrape of a container on the bar top and glanced down to see Flat-Top pushing a drink in his direction. Purse turned his nose up at it. “Most of the time they think this place is too, uhh…” 

“Dirty?” Purse coolly offered. 

Flat-Top snorted and took a gulp of his own drink. “Dirty’s a word. Too much dignity to roll around with the freight, yeah? And you sure look like a truck with lots of… dignity.” He made a great show of looking up and down Purse’s body, making it clear he had another word in mind in place of ‘dignity’. “Yep, nothing breaks your composure, hm?” 

Purse elegantly rolled his eyes, his attention momentarily drawn to two trucks dancing in a nearby corner, as though somehow they could hear the music above the roar of the crowd. Before long it was less dance and more of an obscene grind and soon a rather obscene kiss. Purse scoffed. Electrics would never get up to such behavior in a public area. 

Flat-Top loudly cleared his throat, catching Purse’s attention again. “Looks like you might be here a while. Maybe while you’re waitin’ for your business, you could–” 

Flat-Top grabbed his arm. The gesture was somewhere between flirtatious and obnoxious. In either case, the hand left smudges on his plating. Purse shuddered. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Hey, I jus’ thought–” 

“Not here.” 

A look of… disappointment, maybe, crossed Flat-Top’s eyes before he downed his drink and cocked his head toward the side of the bar. “There’s the alley–” 

Purse was on his wheels before the brick truck could finish his direction. 

The alley behind the freight bar was exactly what one would expect—weak, flickering lighting, punctuated by the occasional flashing lights in the far distance, the thick, grimy dust suspended in the spotlight of the overhead lamps.

Voices, some sober, most drunken, spilled from the bar and the nearby roads. Slightly more private than the bar, but still disgustingly public. Anyone could stumble upon them here. 

And before Purse could analyze the locale any further, his back met the brick wall with a thump that made him wince in pain and surprise, Flat-Top pressing at his front with a brazen smirk. 

They didn’t kiss- Purse quickly whipped his head to the side before Flat-Top had a chance, barely missing the brick truck’s slight look of disappointment before he cut his losses and went for Purse’s neck instead, clumsily biting and licking at it. The low-key pain made Purse’s body shiver with something between lust and disgust, or maybe a healthy mix of both. The ragged brick wall scraped up his back as Flat-Top pawed at him, running his hands all over as though trying to sully him, pushing his fingers into sensitive joints, scrabbling at his pelvis and unlatching the plating with unsubtle fingers. 

Purse sighed as his spike, already hard and twitching, landed in the brick truck’s hand. Flat-Top gave him a few rough strokes that turned Purse’s sigh into a ragged moan, the sound extending as Flat-Top went searching further. Purse expected rough fingers shoving inside him; the hesitation made him frown, tightening his grip on the grimy armour beneath his hand. 

“S’okay if I…?” 

“Yes, do it,” Purse huffed. Impatience made him snappish. He felt the press of thick fingers inside him, sending a jolt of sensation through his body that ended with another moan, just as he felt Flat-Top shuffle between their bodies and unlatch his own plating. The fingers left his body and Purse spread his thighs, as much as he could while stuck between brick and brick, and suddenly he found himself aided as Flat-Top grabbed his thighs, hoisting him up, slamming him against the wall with a satisfying rush that emptied his lungs of air. Purse was impressed; the brick truck was strong. And then Purse was impressed all over again as Flat-Top pushed inside him, stretching him to his limits, leaving him shuddering and gathering dust beneath his nails as he clawed at Flat-Top’s shoulders. 

It was fast, and raw, and Purse wondered if his face looked more pained than pleasured as Flat-Top thrust into him, throwing his face into the money truck’s neck again, puffing loud, graceless groans into it. The sound was underscored by the steady rattle of chains Flat-Top wore around his body, along with the dull grind of metal and brick on ultra-polished plating. 

Sex with Electra and the other Components was high art compared to this. Electrics had a reputation for indulging in enough kinks to make a seasoned sleeper car blush like a virgin. But this tryst in a dark alley scratched an itch Purse never realized he’d had. Getting fucked against a wall was quite tame compared to what he and Joule had gotten up to just that morning, but it wasn’t the act here that was kinky to him, so much as the situation. 

“Mmm… so pretty. Don’t see many trucks with a body like yours… yep, you’re special… mm, so classy…” 

In the cacophony of Flat-Top’s garbled moans and compliments and Purse’s own stuttered breaths, he almost missed the loud, drawn-out noise the brick truck released, followed by two quick thrusts and the sudden presence of dirty heat inside Purse’s body. He frowned, not expecting Flat-Top to be done quite so quickly, and the brick truck gave him a sheepish, but still satisfied grin as he peeled his face away from Purse’s neck. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Flat-Top snorted. He pulled out in a move that made Purse whimper, lowering him back to his wheels, and drew in a stabilizing breath before dropping to his knees in front of the money truck. “Whaddaya expect? Don’t worry, I got ya anyway…” 

Purse rolled his eyes, then closed them in pleasure as the brick truck’s tongue made an enthusiastic swipe around the end of his spike. This was followed by a playful nibble of teeth and then a sloppy kiss followed by a sloppy suck, a completely uncoordinated effort that somehow worked really well, leaving Purse breathless and moaning. 

The rattle of chains underscored Flat-Top’s soft grunts and sucking noises, a filthy combination of sounds that had Purse writhing against the wall until he felt the bricks dig grooves into his back plating. Before he could stop himself, he scrabbled to grip the edge of Flat-Top’s helmet (he was grabbing and not caressing, of course), following the bobbing motions and watching his spike disappearing into Flat-Top’s eager mouth until Purse found his breath again and groaned as he came, eyes fixed on Flat-Top’s throat as he swallowed until it was all done and pulled away with a smug look of triumph. 

“Some business, eh?” Flat-Top smirked, chains jingling softly as he swiped his hand against his mouth. 

A little shaky, Purse caught his breath and reached for his discarded plating. Flat-Top handed him the piece with something akin to reverence, the smirk slowly fading to something more subdued. 

“Y’know… we don’t have to do it out here all the time. I have a shed. Bed and everything.” 

“I know. You keep telling me.” 

“So why we gotta meet here every time? You ashamed of me or something?” 

“No! I–” Purse cut off his own indignant reply just as Flat-Top’s smirk returned. 

“I’m kidding with you! Just sayin’, it’s not always comfortable out there. Pretty sure a rat almost crawled up my arse while I was busy.”

Purse tried and failed to keep from smiling. “I’m not here for anything more, Flat-Top. You know that.” 

“Hey, s’okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. Sometimes you just need to get fucked in an alley, you know?” 

Such wisdom. Purse’s tiny smile grew a bit. “If you say so.” 

“I meant it, y’know. I got a bed. It’s a big one. Real comfortable. Never had an electric in there, but… you’re okay. So you know… yeah.” 

“I suppose we’ll see, next time I have business here.” 

Flat-Top nodded and shuffled on his wheels as though he expected something more, and tapped the brick in his helmet by way of a parting greeting before rolling back into the bar. Purse watched him go without a word, taking his time before thinking about rolling out of the alley himself. 

Grime, dirt, muck. Now he was covered in it. Dirty inside and outside, filthy to the core, and wouldn’t Electra and the Components just be shocked to see him coming home in this condition. Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to shower any time soon. 

Purse allowed himself a little grin, glancing down at the smudges and marks Flat-Top left on his body. His back still ached while other parts felt quite pleased. Flat-Top was right; sometimes, one just needed to get fucked in alley. But maybe next time, he wouldn’t mind seeing this bed.


End file.
